


Unwritten Scenes

by inkstainedwretch



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Play, Mortal!Armand, Multi, Vampire Sex, mortal!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 01:29:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10686978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstainedwretch/pseuds/inkstainedwretch
Summary: Four highly sexual vignettes set during various points in Interview and TVL.(Quick note: I wrote these a very long time ago, but I never thought to put them on the internet until now. They aren't part of a story, but rather isolated scenes that are separate from each other.)





	1. Lestat and Louis

**Author's Note:**

> I have not read any VC books past Body Thief.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set at some point during Interview with the Vampire, after Lestat and Louis have met but before Louis is turned.

There was alcohol in him, and quite a bit of it. It warmed his skin, made his breath sting the air, coiled through the scent of his blood like a heady spice. Perhaps it had facilitated the way he looked at me then, as vulnerable as though I'd cracked him open, desperate to feel more of me with the way he clung to my shoulders. His back was against the tree now; the shadows hid us well. It would have brought me some delight to have him in the oratory, but that would come later. For the moment, he was holding onto me so tightly, it was as if he wanted to merge us, as though he were drowning rapidly and I was the only thing that kept him from being swept away.

You cannot understand how badly I wanted him, how badly I needed him. It is more than possible for a vampire to have preferences of flavor, as different characteristics and circumstances can change the taste of the blood one way or another. Louis, at that moment and at every moment I spent near him while he was mortal, was the most delicious thing I had ever come across in my years and years of life.

Just being so close to him, unwrapping the layers of his clothing and placing my hands on his skin, sank hooks in my flesh that tugged me mercilessly toward him. I had already fed that night, well enough that I knew even the smallest pull from him would make me feel unbearably sick. I knew that killing him would not only destroy the plan I had in mind, but it would also shred my heart to pieces. Such was the depth of my love for him, even now as this irresistible longing threatened to undo it all completely.

I may have said something about it, actually. I know I must have said something, because I'll never forget the strangled sort of cry he gave, and the anguish in his eyes as he said, looking at me with his head lolled against the bark of the tree, "You don't mean that".

Whatever I'd said, I know I meant every word of it, but I was in no mood to argue with him. Leaning back like that, his shirt hanging open, his long black hair loose and falling over his neck and shoulders, he was so achingly beautiful, my hunger clawed at me with renewed strength. Louis is never more beautiful than when his hair is long and loose, a silken curtain made of the night itself, and with his eyes reddened by liquor and loathing, I could well imagine how the dark gift might make him even more wondrous.

My resolve buckled, and in a moment, my teeth were in his neck. The first beads of blood that emerged drove me mad with hunger, and in the end, it was only through a great triumph of will that Louis lived to see the following morning. I took the reins to my hunger and pulled tremendously, imagining the years and years I would spend mourning the loss of him. I knew he wouldn't take the dark gift tonight; there was more work to be done. If I drank from him tonight, I lost him for good.

So, despite how my hunger for him screamed at me, I withdrew, running my tongue over the small cuts so I could still savor how good he tasted. Louis, whether he fully understood what I'd done or not, pulled me closer still, and through our clothing I felt the firm presence of his swollen flesh against my hip. I nicked my tongue with the edge of my tooth, let a drop or two fall and close the bite.

I pressed slow kisses up his neck, away from the main source of my temptation, and with my hands now I undid his clothing below. I was thankful for the dark around us, thankful for how covered we were by shadows, so that he did not see my mouth stained with his blood. He leaned forward and kissed me, and I almost held back a moment to lick the blood from my teeth. But I found then, as I did so many times after, that I could not deny him. If he tasted his blood on me, he said nothing, nor did it diminish his enthusiasm. 

In one hand, I held him, and close as we were, everywhere my hand did not touch was met with cloth and skin, enclosing him one way or another as I moved. His arms released me, though his lips did not, and to my complete shock, in moments I felt his hands unlacing me. Not that I wasn't more than ready for him; to be perfectly honest, I hadn't expected the idea to enter his mind. But it certainly had, and now we were evenly matched, the heat of his hand on me near unbearable.

He spoke wordlessly to me, in the soft sounds he made against my lips, in the unfocused emotion crashing through his mind, in the way he canted his hips up and pressed us closer and closer and closer to each other. He was a man free at long last from the misery that had dogged him, and he needed me, and he wanted me, and he loved me. This, I knew, was sweeter than the taste of his death could ever be, and as we chased our ecstasy together I thought of nothing but Louis, of the years we would spend together, of the knowledge that he was mine, and even now I was hopelessly his.

He kissed me hard as it hit him, so the desperate shout he made was muffled on my tongue. In his mind I felt such rapture, such mindless delight that was so far removed from his unending misery, and he was so astoundingly warm, so breathtakingly beautiful, that it wasn't too long before I responded in kind. He fell forward against me, heavy and boneless as though I had gone through with it and killed him, his breathing heavy and exhausted. I kept him upright, and this time the kiss I pressed to his neck was not driven by hunger, but simply because he was beautiful, and he was close, and I loved him to the point of pain.

He raised himself enough to let our foreheads touch, and in his eyes, and in his mind, I saw gratitude. Not just for the act itself, but because for these small moments, I had relieved him of the intolerable burden of awareness. I smiled softly at him; he didn't really long for death, just something that would take him out of this miserable life he had made.

I could manage that without much trouble.


	2. Lestat and Armand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the masquerade scene in The Vampire Lestat.

To say that Armand is beautiful is to say that the sun is a source of light. Armand goes beyond simple beauty. Those auburn curls, that impossibly perfect face, those deep, deep brown eyes, and the soft, solemn way he turns to look at you, all of it combines with the soothing pull his mind casts over yours, with the gentleness of his embrace, and it pours like rain over your soul.

You will love him. It is not a request, not an order, but simply a statement of fact. Under the star-bright haze of his mind, his sweet siren’s song drawing you in, as his fingers cradle your face on each side, you will love him.

And as I lay sprawled on my back, whether on a bench, a table, or even the floor, I cannot remember, as he looked down at me with those deep, dark eyes, I did.

The first kiss was soft and inquisitive. Would I let him in? Before I had even thought about it, I already had. His movements were smooth, yet firm. There was not force, but he did not yield. I felt the brocade of his coat under my hands, felt his hips settled just above mine, felt his tongue slip silently past my lips. I adored him.

He lifted up, looked down at me with an expression unchanged, and then momentary panic as his lips pressed against my neck. But then up again, not the smallest scratch of a fang, and a tremendous rustling of silk and lace as he ventured down.

His fingers were impossibly deft as he unlaced me, and propping myself up on my elbow I watched his hand disappear into the fabric. He looked merely inquisitive as his hand learned the secrets of my body, and I felt myself shiver at the feeling of it, no more so than when at last he moved an abundance of cloth out of the way to let my stiffened flesh free.

I thought I saw the echoes of a smile in his eyes as his hand moved up, then down, and so on. The edges of his lace sleeves tickled at me, making my hips twitch and jump underneath him. He had me pinned completely just from the way he lay atop my legs. He glanced up at my face perhaps once or twice as he worked, but I had the feeling he had further designs.

With a glimmer in his eye, he leaned forward, and I felt the flat press of his tongue just below the head, followed by a flick of the tip that sent my head snapping back. Another pass, this one starting much lower, and my shoulders fell with a hard thud. I wasn’t to touch his hair, that message pressed insistently into my mind. If I tried to grab at him, this would all stop.

Instead, I tore at the fabric of my own coat, my breath coming in hisses through my teeth as his lips and tongue and hands caressed me. His touch sent ripples through me, hot coils of need that had me shouting breathlessly into empty air. His lips sealed around the tip, and then down he moved, and were it not for how thoroughly he pinned me down, I’d have shot my hips upward. I felt none of his teeth, least of all the ones I feared. Just the sweetness of his mouth, the curling movement of his hand below, and the flickering tease of his tongue.

My head lolled to one side. My eyes slid shut. I was mindless, truly mindless, unable to do anything but clutch at the velvet of my coat and sing my aria of delight into the loose-shaken curls of my own hair. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to hold him tight against me and uncover the exquisite body I knew lay under his clothing. I wished suddenly that we were in bed, and that we were naked and relaxed and leisurely exploring each other. I wanted to know what he tasted like. I wanted to know what sounds he made when he was lost to bliss.

Lost in these thoughts, I felt the pleasure in me began to tighten and tighten, burning hotter and hotter with every pass of his lips over my flesh. I released my coat suddenly and gripped at the roots of my own hair, wanting badly to touch his but knowing I would die if he stopped his ministrations. I curled forward, caught a glimpse of him an instant before my eyes shut tight, and it was with the image of his serene gaze in my mind that I came undone.

All was starlight, pouring through me in great waves as I cried out in helpless delirium. He drank me in, the soft suction of it spiking keenly through me. Slowly now, I landed, my body quaking throughout as he released me. I was awash with love for him, near enough to drowning that when he came up to me again and offered his lips, I kissed them as though the touch might bring me back above the surface.

I tasted blood, and for a moment I didn't think anything of it. It made sense that he would taste of my blood, after that. In a terrible shock, however, I realized it was not mine at all, but his own. I knew now what he wanted, what he truly desired, and in a dreadful panic I threw him from me. 


	3. Lestat and Gabrielle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during part 3 of The Vampire Lestat, immediately following the blood-kiss scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me for this one.

Eyes burning, mouth bloody, all at once her hands were gripping tightly to my coat, and with the scorch of want she pulled me in. I did not see which of us shut the stone above us, but soon we were dark and enclosed, our own world, dark as the womb but easily ten times louder with the sound of our movement. Her hands on my coat, on my shirt, on my skin, my own undoing the velvet and lace keeping her from me.

Her hands were on mine then, guiding them down until with furious precision, she showed me where my fingers must be. Even as she wrapped her leg around me, our elbows and knees hitting stone walls without care, she hissed in my ear, ‘keep it there, don’t let go, if you love me don’t let go’.

Then with the tight press of her, she pulled me in again, and whatever sound I made, I did not hear. My ears were only for her, the high and keening sounds that were pulled from her by my movements. I did as I was told, my fingers where she said, finding the path she loved the most while my other hand felt all the other secrets I had never known.

Oh, but she was soft. The plush of her breasts, the gentle curve of her stomach, the lovely weight of her thigh across my hip, the dark and wondrous place that held me tight, the golden curls that tickled at my cheek – I could swear they’d grown – the golden curls beneath which my hand was stationed, and those cold, sweet lips against my own. She kissed as though she meant to devour me, and though I wasn’t sure whose teeth had done it, I tasted her blood now as her tongue slid across my own. 

Surely, this was heaven. Surely, this thunderous passion, this tremendous storm of need and fulfillment could not have been mere mortal excitation. There could be nothing greater, I was certain of it, than to be joined so completely to my darling, my precious dark angel, my mother, my lover, my Gabrielle. To hear her cries grow louder, feel inside as she began to jump and squeeze around me, to feel my own rapture rise in me merely knowing I had brought her such sweetness.

“Gabrielle,” I cried out, the way I had never done aloud, and again as she moaned against the skin of my neck, “Gabrielle!”

A tremendous gasp, her eyes shut tight, and then her hand gripped my wrist to keep it in place. Her back hit the stone and then lifted in a great curve, a reed in an unbearably slow wind. Her other hand wrapped around the back of my head, and she brought me to her neck, where I pierced her flesh again and drank. Around me, she clenched down hard, again and again, and I moaned in delight against her skin. And through all this, she sang out her pleasure, and in her exaltations, I heard the cries of a songbird at last uncaged.

Through her blood, I learned no one yet had loved her enough not to let go. In her mortal life, she had received this gift from none but herself. I was enraged and rhapsodic to know I was the only one who would give her this. As I felt her teeth in my neck, I knew I was the only one now who could. We were lost, both of us, in this blood-drenched, ecstatic madness.

I gave that gift to her again and again, with no intention to stop unless she asked. I felt the unbearable perfection of my own uncoiling more than once, panting her name breathlessly in an endless litany, feeling her kiss bloody trails across my neck, but in truth I felt far greater satisfaction in seeing her break apart in my hands.

She gave me such vulnerability in those moments, such honesty, even more so than she had the night I had turned her. The sound of her all but sobbing into my ear as she climbed to it, encouragements, endearments, helpless pleading, half-choked repetitions of my name, were more than sufficient to throw me right over the edge with her. My sweet Gabrielle, my perfect Gabrielle, was never more beautiful than she was screaming with joy, shivering with the waves of carnal bliss that rolled through her.

I would have been more than content to carry on that way until the sun set again, but after some time the death-sleep began to fall over her like soft rain. Her limbs grew heavy, her breathing slowed, and her eyes would barely stay open. She clung to me still, and with red mouths we kissed and kissed.

“I love you,” I whispered fervently. “I love you, I love you so, my darling one, my dark and beautiful angel.”

“My Lestat,” she hummed softly, a somnolent smile playing with the edges of her mouth.

It was with those words she drifted to sleep, and I lay beside her still, watching over her angelic face until sleep came for me as well.


	4. Armand and Marius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set when Marius first brings Armand home. NOTE THAT I HAVE NOT READ THE VAMPIRE ARMAND YET. This is based entirely on the very short depiction we get in The Vampire Lestat.

You cannot imagine the tenderness, the cold hands moving softly over me, the strong arms holding me, but not restraining me. You cannot possibly imagine the gentleness of his lips, pressed first to my hair, then once to my cheek, and finally soft against my neck.

“You are safe now,” my master whispered. “You are safe with me, and you will never go back to them. This, I promise.”

I felt so small. I was small, still, even though I felt as though I had grown ten years in the span of the last few months. Here in his arms, I felt smaller than I had in a long while, because he made me feel like I was allowed to be small. He made me feel as though being small was safe, again, something I didn’t have to fight against. Already, I loved him.

His face was so lovely, so gentle in the lamplight. His white hair looked so beautiful, shades of gold visible when he turned. His body felt so big to me, broad shoulders, strong arms and legs, and his skin… _white_. White as the snow I had not seen in so long. I wondered, somewhere in the back of my mind, if he were an angel.

He kissed my neck again, this time with an open mouth, and I think I might have hummed softly at how good it felt. Then, he kissed with his teeth, and I felt a sharp slice, and for a moment, I was so afraid…and then, what bliss I felt.

I remember wrapping my arms around his neck, holding onto him, never wanting the kiss to end. It all felt so soft, so warm, the lapping of his tongue and the soft caresses of his hands on my back. I know at that point, my mouth had opened, and softly I was sighing into his ear. I could not remember feeling so good, so loved, so safe, in my whole life.

When his head lifted up, I saw him lick his lips, and his mouth was stained red. It did not frighten me to see it; the sight of my own blood did not alarm me now, as it once had. He looked at me with sadness, and then after a moment, he leaned in to kiss my lips.

I had never been kissed so deeply, so lovingly, and despite our difference in size, I felt his tongue slide against mine. I tasted blood, rich and hot, the taste of it sending tingles and shocks of pleasure through me, and then with a sensation like the feeling returning to a compressed limb, the wound on my neck sealed itself.

In that moment, my heart was his. I wrapped my arms around him again and held onto him with my very life. I did not realize I wept until I felt the hot tears sliding down my cheek. His hand was on my back again, rubbing soothing circles over my skin. I loved him with my whole heart, with my whole body. I was terrified of losing him. I wished more than anything that he would never let me go.

He turned, lay me down on my back, and slowly his arms moved away. He brushed the tears from my cheeks with a gentle smile, his body above me but not touching me. I wasn’t afraid of him. He didn’t want to hurt me, I knew that. The soft ends of his hair fell down and touched my skin, and I shivered as they moved.

“My angel,” he murmured. “My precious one.”

He kissed me just below the ear, and I jumped a little. I reached for him, wanting to bring him closer, and hurriedly I kissed his cheek, his neck, and most anywhere else I could reach. I wanted to love him, to give him what gifts I could. He sighed softly, and I felt his voice rumble in his chest.

He kissed my mouth again, and although I was unafraid of his sharp teeth, they did not cut me. He was so impossibly gentle. His fingers trailed through my hair, but did not pull. His teeth clasped over my lip and tugged, but not enough to hurt. He drew back to let me breathe. He let me grasp at his thick, silken hair. He made such sweet sounds against my mouth.

Something coiled in me, white hot and beautiful, and I felt my flesh stirring below. I said nothing, wanting my master to stay near me, wanting to keep kissing his soft, cold lips. When he moved back, I was afraid for a moment, wondering if I’d done something wrong somehow, but he just ran his hand through my hair again with a smile.

He kissed my neck, his mouth open but his teeth out of the way, and slowly he moved down, his mouth on my chest, his tongue dragging across the skin of my stomach, his lips sealed over one of my hips. I was near to crying out, unable to believe what I thought he was about to do. It didn’t work like that; it was all wrong. He was my _master_ , he couldn’t–

But, he did. He looked up at me with those gentle, adoring eyes, and then his tongue dragged right up the length of me. I cried aloud, my hand flying up to my mouth, and I looked down at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Master…” I said, and then covered my mouth again, knowing I shouldn’t speak out against him.

“You may speak,” he said softly, kissing my inner hip with a soft smile. “If there is anything you must tell me, say it. You will meet no punishment for it, my precious one. I swear it.”

“Master,” I said softly, “you…that isn’t your…I’m not…”

He laughed quietly, though his eyes were sad.

“You must tell no one what happens inside the walls of this room,” he said, “for the laws and social decrees of mortal men are not followed here. Do you understand, sweet one?”

“Yes, master,” I nodded, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Good,” his fingertips grazed lightly over the skin of my hip, and my body jerked upwards. “Now, I wish nothing more at this moment than to give you pleasure.”

“Yes, master,” I sighed, letting my head fall back down onto the bed.

His tongue was on me again in an instant, stroking me with slow, long licks, the flat of it curling in when he flicked it upwards. I cried out, gasping as the heat wound through me, little curls of it joining the growing, building rush of it every time his tongue met my skin. My hands held tight to the blanket under me, and I felt my back start to curl upwards.

“Master,” I whispered, hardly thinking about what I said. “Master, I love you.”

He didn’t respond, but I didn’t expect him to. I felt his lips wrap around me, his head lowering slowly, taking me in all at once. The sounds it tore from me…I hadn’t known pleasure could so closely resemble violence. My head tipped back, and I shouted and moaned and sobbed at how unspeakably good it felt. It felt as though my body were set alight, all of the heat radiating from where his mouth was around me. 

There were tears in my eyes again, and I welcomed them, welcomed them to drive out any trace their awful predecessors had left behind. I wanted to remember nothing but this, feel nothing but this, my beautiful master giving so freely of his love and his body.

“Master,” I sobbed, again and again, trying to contain in a single word how exquisite his touch felt, “master, master, please, please, master…”

He did not stop, not for a moment, not even when my eyes shut tight and I screamed aloud, my body curved and shaking as I felt myself release into his mouth. With a litany of high-pitched gasping and sobbing, the ecstasy of it crashed through me, and under his mouth, my hips spasmed and shook.

With a gasp, the last of it left me, and I fell back down, trying frantically to catch my breath. I opened my eyes for a moment, saw him take a cloth from somewhere and put it to his mouth, and then he climbed back up beside me. There were still tears in my eyes, joyful and relieved, and again he wiped them from my cheeks.

“Master,” I wrapped my arms around his neck again, “my master. I love you.”

“And I love you, precious one,” he kissed my forehead. “Now, it is time for you to sleep.”

My brows furrowed. Didn’t he…?

“I…I do the same to you now, don’t I?” I asked.

“That is no longer required of you,” he said, petting my hair. “After today, you must be thoroughly exhausted.”

“Do you,” I tilted my head, feeling a little stung. “Do you not want me to do it, master?”

He actually laughed, however softly.

“No, dear one, I would enjoy it very much,” he said. “Tomorrow evening, after you have rested and had a day to eat and see the rest of the house, then you may please me, if you wish. Right now, you should sleep.”

I had thought I could not possibly love him more, and yet here I was. I felt mad with the need to show him how I loved him, and yet he had been correct about how tired I was. I supposed if I could not please him tonight…

“May I kiss you once more, master?” I asked. “Before I sleep?”

“Of course,” he smiled. “You never need ask if you may kiss me.”

I kissed him softly on the lips, cautiously running my fingertips through his hair, amazed at its silkiness. I felt the tip of his tongue on my lips, and gladly I opened for him, letting our tongues meet where they could. I loved to kiss him, I decided. If I no longer had to ask permission, I would kiss him whenever I could.

“Goodnight,” he murmured as he drew back, reaching for a blanket below us and draping it over me. “Rest well, my Amadeo. You will see me tomorrow evening, after the sun is down.”

I sighed happily, feeling sleep roll across me like a gentle rain.


End file.
